Leadville 100 - 2012

A summary of 100 unforgettable miles.

After this weekend, I texted Jenn Shelton, requesting a 10 word compendium of her recent run on the John Muir Trail. She agreed to oblige, but only upon the condition that I reciprocate with a 10 word account of my LT100 this past weekend. Erik Skaggs' (incorrect) prediction of my reply: "His response will be 'f***' ten times."

I don't feel that bad about it. It's a funny thing how expectations can end up massively skewing one's perception of a result. In 2006, I won the Leadville 100 in 17:01:56. It was my first ultra ever and I had what at the time felt like an epic bad patch coming off the summit of Sugarloaf Pass at mile 80, but I somehow rallied and pulled it together for the win 20mi later.

This past Saturday, my experience was very similar except that I was already in 2nd place on top of Sugarloaf and when I started walking down the other side (again), two 100mi vets (Nick, followed very closely by Zeke) rolled past me with impressive poise, dropping me into 4th place. I ended up finishing the race 20min slower than in 2006 (my rally around Turquoise Lake wasn't quite as strong this year, and my implosion on top of Sugarloaf was a bit worse), but the course this year was likely 10-15min longer than the one I ran in 2006 (and I would estimate 25-30min longer than the course has been since it was tweaked in 2009 to re-route around a helicopter crash).

The main difference was that this year I expected to win (side note: I very much expected to win in 2006 as well, but pretty much only three other very informed people in the world expected me to as well), so when I crossed the line in 17hr and in first, I felt nothing but triumph. Running a very similar time with a very similar experience, but in 4th place, I crossed the line this year feeling almost nothing but relief. Well, that's not fair. There was also a hefty dose of satisfaction at having persevered through some suffering that in past years I might've used as an excuse to DNF.

My summer of mountain running leading up to this year's LT100 was minimally-specific to this race. I went into the summer expecting/hoping for my shin to come right in time for the Hardrock 100, so I spent my time grunting up and down 14ers with little to no regard for trails or established routes. I focused on amassing vertical at altitude as quickly as possible, which usually meant a small running approach followed by an hour or so of hands-on-knees-or-ground teeth-sweating and then a typically choppy downhill with strides that resembled a controlled fall more than actual running. I became proficient at getting up and down big mountains quickly, but it just so happens that the first and last 40mi of Leadville consist of almost entirely runnable terrain. Like, really runnable.

As such, by time our lead pack of seven (myself, Clarkie, Aish, the Fruitman, Thomas, Zeke, and Jay) arrived at Tabor Boat Ramp at 5:00am Saturday morning, I'd already equaled my longest continuous run of the summer. The pace stayed mellow from there over to Mayqueen, and I passed through the raucous (I had to scream at my crew in order to be heard) aid in 1:42, a minute behind the leaders (I'd stopped for some bladder relief). This was a reasonable and comfortable pace.

My navigation of the next section on the Colorado Trail was tempered by my lack of headlamp, but I soon caught back up to the group and as the trail turned upwards Clarkie and I kept running and moved to the front, leading us onto the smooth, flat Hagerman Road. Somewhere here, Arnstein and Jay went off the back and our group was pared to the five players that would define the remainder of the race up front.

Sugarloaf Pass, ~20mi. Photo: Matt Trappe

Once we turned on to the rough 4wd road that leads to the top of Sugarloaf Pass, I felt the pace was just a touch too hot most of the way, but doggedly hung in the group, albeit at the back. I was probably as guilty as anyone for keeping us moving too quickly on the descent of the Powerlines, but I'd argue that Clarkie was contributing his fair share of quad-punishment, too.

By time we hit the pavement at the bottom I could already feel the effects of the continuous running, and Thomas and Aish led the charge as we entered Fish Hatchery as a group in 3:05. My 1:23 split from MQ to FH is by far the fastest I've ever done that during the race and likely the fastest anyone has during the race.

Road running into Fish Hatchery, ~23mi. Photo: DROZ Photo

My crew of Scott, Dakota, Jenny, and Anna kept things ridiculously smooth through the aid and I hit the road right on Nick's tail, in the lead. I remarked that we'd been going way too fast and I was going to "jog this whole road". Fat chance. Aish, Thomas, and Zeke all soon came sailing past and I mostly let them go, trailing the lead pack of four by maybe 50 yards, trying desperately to not get caught up in any silly half-stepping. I've ruined my race more than once by running this section of pavement too fast, and much to my surprise there was even more pavement then usual before hopping onto a double-track that lead us over to the Treeline crew access. I made a pit-stop through here that allowed Aish, Thomas, and Clarkie to disappear into the distance, and I ran most of the next rolling section with Zeke where we spent a lot of time talking about how maybe we'd already wrecked our chances for the day by running too quickly too early. He pointed out, with poignant accuracy, that we weren't really running any slower back here either, as the lead runners were visible maybe just a minute ahead.

As the trail turned gradually upward, climbing towards the CT again, I left Zeke behind and ever-so-gradually caught back up to Clarkie, who I shared some trail time with before also dropping him on the slightly steeper climbing on the CT itself. My quads were definitely feeling the continuous running at this point, and I was a little disheartened with how touched my quads already were as I navigated the fun drop into the mi40 Twin Lakes aid. I noted cheers for Aish and Thomas only 2.5min out from the aid, so was certain I'd regain them on the Hope Pass climb.

My aid station transition was again impeccable, and I picked up an extra bottle for my crossing of Hope, having run out of water more than once on this stretch in the past. Just as I was leaving the truly deafening and deep crowds of TL I came upon a seemingly stalled Aish. He eventually let me pass in the meadows; his strategy thus far was clearly to just run with whoever was in the lead. Thomas rejoined us at approximately the (very low) river crossing and we engaged the relatively gradual northside Hope Pass climb as a tight trio.

In the past I've run probably 90% of this climb to the Hopeless aid station and then hiked most of the rest of the way to the pass proper. My legs were already screaming out for some kind of relief from the running, so I immediately fell to a strong hike and ran barely any of the climb. Even so, my split to Hopeless was 1:07--1:08 or 1:09 is typical for me on race-day and Matt's CR split is 1:12--so I think it's fair to say I was hiking strongly. As such, Mike completely fell off the back in this stretch and I started building a sizeable lead on Thomas as well.

I felt super strong the rest of the way to the top of the pass where a posse of Pearl Izumi folks greeted me with the $500 King of the Mountain preem, which was a nice little bonus.

Feeling strong near the top of Hope Pass the first time. Photo: Joel Wolpert.

I've come to expect feeling like crap on the descent of Hope's south side, and this year was no different. It took a long time for my legs to find a reasonably comfortable rhythm and I was also dealing with some troubling chest/rib tightening/cramping. I popped a few S! Caps and kept on, hoping for the best, but I could tell that my quads were truly toast even at this point.

The new contour trail from the base of Hope over to Winfield was puzzlingly tough for me. The singletrack was certainly welcome, but I found myself hiking slight grades almost out of apathy and laziness and fear that I'd already dug my own grave. I knew Thomas had to be gaining on me after what I felt had been a lackluster downhill, but he didn't come past until we were only a couple minutes out of the aid and we entered the turn-around point essentially together in 7:38 or so.

Dakota and I left Winfield with Thomas not far behind, but having some friendly company did wonders to buoy my mental state and we ran the contour trail back to the base of Hope at a very strong pace. Once the hiking began, Dakota had to remind me that I didn't need to go so hard--it was still early!--so I soon settled into a comfortable rhythm and mostly focused on getting calories and fluid in. The last few minutes to the top of the 12,600' pass were a bit rougher due to the thinner air, but all in all I was pleased with my mental and physical status.

Nearly at the top of Hope the second time, with Dakota. Photo: Matt Trappe.

Then we started downhill. My quads were tightly locked, sure, but the main issue was that my chest had a strange cramping/stabbing pain that made it hard to breathe or talk. This hindered me for at least three-quarters of the drop back down to the river crossing, and it was so debilitating that I actually looked forward to the upcoming flat and uphill stretches. I gained energy from crossing all of the other racers and with the hot blazing sun at this relatively low altitude (9200'), I took a second to dunk my head when we waded back across the river.

Once again the scene at Twin Lakes was an absolute madhouse, and it did a lot to get me psyched for the rest of the race. Leaving the aid, Dakota re-reminded me to keep taking it easy and proclaimed that I had a tendency to run myself into the ground and that wasn't going to happen today. I was feeling shitty enough that I welcomed an excuse to walk, but despite Dakota's best efforts I had still descended into a full-on low patch by time we reached the South Elbert TH aid station. Honestly, I'd felt like I'd been in a low patch for at least the past 15mi already, but this was bad enough that Dakota was acknowledging it.

Nevertheless, we did a lot of running between there and the next aid at Half Pipe (71mi). This section of trail is all flat/downhill, but I couldn't move nearly as fast as I would've liked, and was mostly just excited that I was enduring the pain in my quads enough to keep on a run. At Treeline aid I made a quick stop to change out the insoles in my shoes for something a touch cushier, and then left a few seconds later with Scott. Moments after resuming running, though, Thomas eased past with his pacer and Scott and I followed them onto the dreaded paved road. I actually ran this pretty well for a while, tucking in behind Scott and not letting Thomas gain too much ground. Eventually, though, the pavement took its expected toll on my battered quads and by time we limped into the Fish Hatchery, Thomas was just leaving and had a two and a half minute lead on me.

Seeing familiar and friendly faces at FH bolstered my mental condition, and I was confident I could catch Thomas on the Powerline climb, but that would not be the case. I soon found that my quads were now even effecting my ability to hike hard and Scott spent most of the climb trying to convince me to move faster, run more of the flatter sections. There was never a full-on implosion, but it was pretty obvious that Thomas would have to be faltering mightily if I were to catch him.

When we hit the top the real wreckage ensued. My quads were comical in their soreness on the slight downhill grade and I ended up walking a pitiful amount of it. Just after the top of the pass, Nick and Zeke made their passes and while I briefly tried to give chase, it was to no avail. My quads would seize and cramp and generally hurt like a sonofabitch. Even when we reached the smoother and more gradual grade of Hagerman Road, I was mostly helpless and was pretty much resolved for a hike in to the finish.As I should've known, things turned around fairly dramatically on the Colorado Trail, however, and I actually began doing some running again. I wasn't going to be catching anyone anytime soon, but I also wasn't going to take all night to get back to 6th and Harrison. I spent most of this stretch looking forward to Mayqueen at mile 87 where I planned to sit down, change shoes, take a break, and generally recharge for the final push to the finish.

None of that happened. When we reached the aid, I simply walked a few steps while drinking a cup of coke, pulled on a long-sleeved shirt to ward off some armpit chaffage, and started running. Consistently. Something in my brain had clicked over in the aid--I don't know if it was the fact that I was only 8min down on my 2006 MQ split, or that seeing supporters simply lifted my attitude--but I could smell the barn and just wanted to get this bullshit overwith.

So I ran. Probably 90% of the time back into town. It was an especially beautiful evening and I remember even being able to consciously enjoy the peaceful lakeside setting and the soft alpenglow spreading over the Mosquito Range. Scott and I clicked on our lights as we passed Sugarloafin' Campground, I hiked the final little rocky stretch that guards the glorious Boulevard and then it was just a teeth-gritted grunt into town and the oh-so-appreciated finishline.

The pain doesn't stop at the finish line. Photo: Matt Trappe.

The post-race scene did provide some interesting experiences, though. Directly upon finishing my stomach was too unsettled to accept food or even much drink, so I simply didn't ingest anything. When I had finally hobbled my way back to the Roost a couple hours later, however, I actually fainted, knocking my chin on the tailgate on the way down (my jaw is still sore). When friends and family picked me up and tried walking me into the house I blacked out again, going completely limp in their arms. It's a very odd thing, having completely zero control over your body. A few glasses of water and starchy treats later, though, and I was fine.

It was really satisfying to finish this one, but the shortcomings in my preparation were obvious. Namely, I wasn't ready for so much continuous running and this destroyed my legs. Turns out, specificity has some validity. Right now, I don't see myself returning to the LT100 anytime soon, though. My interests have definitely turned to steeper, more technical lines, and I hope to pursue that as much as possible in a competitive format in the future. However, now (a few days after the race) that it seems my shin escaped from the 100mi distance largely unscathed, I will be integrating more true running back into my regimen and will hopefully avoid any other outcomes like this going forward.